A formula to escape by

Escapism is important. I consider it a critical act of self care. Whether it’s through reading, surfing social media, or binge-watching something on Netflix, I think it’s necessary to get out of your head and into something else for a little while. For me, one of my favorite forms of escapism is the Dark Crime Drama. Most of the DCDs that I indulge in are usually British or European, and thanks to Netflix, I have more of these at my fingertips than I ever could have hoped for. There’s something about how these non-American dramas do mystery and suspense that I cannot get enough of. And, since I’ve been immersing myself in this genre for the past decade or so, I have made some observations that are never fail. If I may . . .

The crime drama usually takes place in some picturesque small town. It could be in Wales or Poland or Finland or Sweden . . . it doesn’t really matter. But the skies are mostly grey, the fields are vibrant green, the gardens are lush, and the people are eccentric (there’s almost always an elderly person with some quirk that ends up being key to the story). These locales are always beautifully shot. The cinematography is its own character in the story, and that alone is reason to watch. Sometimes its exceedingly cold. Other times, it rains endlessly. Often, there’s a seaside with expansive dark beaches (sometimes a body will wash up, as is wont to happen in a crime story) and stunning shots of seabirds against an angry sky and crashing waves. There’s usually wind. There are charming old stone homes. There are modern buildings and houses made of glass and metal, a juxtaposition between the Old World and the new. You could watch on mute as a travelogue for whatever country the story happens to be set. This is part of what is alluring to me. But there’s more. 

Usually, the story centers around what I call the Damaged Detective. He (and it’s pretty much always a he) has relocated to Small Town from Big City in order to escape his Demons. Those Demons usually include alcoholism (sometimes under control, sometimes not), divorce or death of a spouse, an internal investigation, a Tragic Crime he could not solve that haunts him endlessly and empowers his reckless behavior. He is always Just. He is always Righteous. And he is always Tortured. The Damaged Detective also almost always has a daughter. She’s usually adolescent and has a complicated relationship with her father, depending upon his reason for moving to the village. Sometimes she figures prominently in the show, sometimes she’s an erstwhile character who shows up as his Moral Compass (more on moral compasses later). Of course, the Damaged Detective is brilliant, despite his torture and recklessness. He’s also usually curmudgeonly and/or difficult, and definitely broody and slightly unemotional. This leads to conflict with his superiors (the police chief, the mayor, town officials, etc.) Don’t worry . . . there’s a solution for that. 

Damaged Detective always has a Pragmatic Woman in a subordinate role, usually a town local, who is also on the police force, who ensures that his prickly ways don’t tick off the local folk too much. She is the Moral Compass, who keeps him in line when one or more of his vices or Demons cause him to act in a manner unbecoming. Most of the time, she was up for a promotion (the job the Damaged Detective has waltzed nicely into, completely oblivious to all the local feathers he’s ruffled), when the brass went over her head for an external hire (this is the part that drives me the craziest, and I’m sure you can understand why). Pragmatic Woman is usually a little homely, maybe even unkempt (because she’s dealing with young children, or a lazy husband/elderly and infirm parent, or some sort of personal turmoil that she never lets interfere with her work). She definitely harbors some resentment toward the Damaged Detective, but is also the Damaged Detective whisperer and is the only one who can make him see reason when he’s thrown some temper tantrum that has pissed off the mayor or the police chief or the entire local community. They eventually become a dynamic duo that love and hate each other, but have zero sexual tension, owing to his tortured brilliance and her commitment to good old fashioned detective work. 

There’s also the Nondescript Friend character. S/he is the person who made the connection that brought the Damaged Detective to town. They usually know him from school or previous employment or through his (dead/divorced) wife. This friend is also a Moral Compass, who has a Healthy Relationship and Happy Children, who knows some of the reasons the Damaged Detective is the way he is, and has witnessed his previous unraveling. This friend pops up a couple of times in the series to warn the Damaged Detective and remind him that he’s no longer in [Stockholm, Krakow, London, Helsinki, Berlin…] anymore. S/he might also remind him that he has a daughter to think about, depending on how prominently the daughter figures into the storyline. 

The story is some horrific a crime that awakens a sleeping darkness within the deceptively quiet village. It’s the murder of either a very popular person (or a child), or it’s a crime that is reminiscent of one that happened (a decade, 25 years, an indeterminate period of time) in the past and a certain indicator that a killer, famous in local lore, has resurfaced. Or it’s a crime that is eerily similar to the botched case from whatever city the Damaged Detective has come from, and requires choppy flashback images of that crime scene spliced with the current crime scene. This also usually requires either the adolescent daughter or Nondescript Friend or sometimes the Pragmatic Woman to call him on his flashbacks, reminding him, again that this is not [Stockholm, Krakow, London, Helsinki, Berlin…]. Because of this, he just can’t seem to crack this impossible case, just like last time in [Stockholm, Krakow, London, Helsinki, Berlin…]! This usually leads to a scene where he has a confrontation with a Moral Compass, and usually devolves into the Damaged Detective having a) a late night angry drive/walk/run by the beach and/or in the rain, b) reckless sex with a local waitress/barmistress/hotel clerk/wife of secondary character, and/or c) drinking binge. The behavior and previous confrontation might be so bad that it leads to a suspension or his being removed from the case or told angrily to “go home and sleep it off!” That’s when you know the Damaged Detective is going to have a Revelation and solve the case. 

The morning after the debaucherous behavior usually dawns sunny and full of hope. The Damaged Detective wakes up, rumpled and unshaven but with new resolve. Despite how awful he looks, his mind is clear. He’s up early looking at his notes/evidence/the crime scene. He rubs his unkempt head and that is the moment. The a-ha moment! Meanwhile, the frazzled Pragmatic Woman is making toast (there is always toast, FYI) and/or drinking coffee and/or hurrying her children off to school, when she gets a frantic phone call from the Damaged Detective telling her to meet him [at the station/crime scene/someone’s house]. She shoves the piece of toast in her mouth as she puts on her jacket and hurries out the door, toast protruding from her lips. (Some time between the a-ha and the toast, the Damaged Detective has cleaned himself up and shaved so that he’s put back together in time for the big reveal.) It’s at this point the music swells to a crescendo and the horrific twist is revealed (usually because of something the Pragmatic Woman has been saying all along, in case anyone was keeping score). The Damaged Detective has found his redemption in his small town revelation. He’s a hero, but still not quite beloved (by anyone but his daughter and maybe, begrudgingly, by the Pragmatic Woman). 

Despite how this formula plays out, again and again, country after country, toast after toast, I can’t tear myself away from the stories. It’s largely because, even though the characters are the same, the stories are incredibly compelling and usually pretty hard to guess the twist ending to the mystery. The stories, sure, and the incredible cinematography that allows me to escape from wherever I am. That alone is worth the price of my Netflix membership.